Black Widow
by loveretriever
Summary: AU interpretation of Mrs. Zabini. My take on how her seven husbands died. Written for a prompt. Multiple Zabini/OC pairings, not my usual style, but a fun challenge nonetheless. Rated for implied content and language


Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry forum - Care of Magical Creatures, Assignment #3. Prompt: Write about a character who is commonly judged and misunderstood based off of their appearance. Extra prompts: known, house.

Delectably AU ficlet, not my usual style. I used Blaise as a break to distinguish between the years of Zara/Zendira's life. I made up names and places and I left the origin of Mrs. Zabini up to imagination.

(Sr. is Spanish for 'Mr.'; Sra. is Spanish for 'Mrs.'; bonjour is French for 'good day'; oui is French for 'yes')

Word count: 6610

* * *

Lady Zendira stared at her reflection thoughtfully. She was admiring her figure in the long mirror that lined the bath. She loved how her body was as muscular and supple now, in her early thirties, as it had been in her youth. She had long mocha legs, a narrow waist and small chest. Her wavy hair was shorter now, framing her face in the British style. Back in her homeland, she had long hair that trailed down below her waist. It was often braided, bound by a multitude of beads that clinked pleasantly when she moved.

She stood up and walked outside, loving how the silk fabric of her robe hardly rustled. Her native fabrics were of rougher make, but produced the same seductive effect. She knew she was poison to men. Like an addiction.

XxX

Lady Zendira had been fifteen when her family cast her out. Her mother refused to see her ever again. Her father's family wouldn't waste coin on a filthy common harlot. She was pregnant with a married man's child. What worth did she now have in her family's eyes? Even her own brothers wouldn't look at her.

Fine, she had decided. I will help myself.

She left her family. Left her small hometown village. Five months later, she was in a hospital giving birth to a beautiful baby boy. He had chocolate eyes and smooth chocolate skin. His hair was straight - unusual for a boy born of wavy-haired origin. The doctor attending her was impressed with her son. Said he was an unusually beautiful baby. With that thought in mind, she named him Blaise.

"Don't you want a last name for him?" the nurse asked, looking up questioningly.

"I don't have a last name," she replied coolly. "And neither does he."

The nurse had been cowed with her calm, level stare. The doctor was intrigued.

Six months after Blaise's birth, Zara, as she was calling herself, married Dr. Zabini. They had no other children together as, two years after their marriage, Dr. Zabini contracted a strange disease that consumed the brain. Zara was told it had an odd name, too.

"It is a very rare disease," the autopsy doctor said, taking off his glasses to clean them. "We never tested Stefano because we believed he was functioning normally. No known history of Creutzfeldt-Jakob has been in his family."

"Excuse you," Zara said.

"Sorry?" Dr. Mortimer paused, looking at her curiously.

"You said something I thought must have been a mistake. Was it a name of a person?"

"Creutzfeldt-Jakob? Yes, two scientists," Dr. Mortimer waved a hand dismissively, "but that's besides the point."

"Ah, is it?" Zara was so confused. She held her baby boy close to her, as if protecting him from evil.

Sighing, the doctor commenced a long-winded speech about Stefano Zabini having shown no signs or symptoms of the disease until three months before his death. At the end of the meeting, Zara signed the paperwork and left the office, feeling frustrated. She had moved from her homeland to Italy. She had found a hospital to give birth to her baby. She had married an honourable man. He had been kind enough to give both her and her son a home and a name. Zabini.

She said the name aloud, "Zabini," enjoying the way it rolled off her tongue.

"Yes, that is who I am now. Zara Zabini, recently widowed," she said, sighing and tugging at her jumper.

She refused to cry until she reached their house - no, her house. She reminded herself that he was gone. A lovely man was dead because of something he couldn't control. No amount of magic could have saved him.

She cried alone. She wept for her son, who would never know his surrogate father. She wept for him, who had suffered much before death. She wept for the future - she felt lost and alone. She didn't cry for herself. She wouldn't be selfish and wish he could come back for her. That would achieve nothing. He had loved her and now he had moved on. She wondered briefly if he would come back as a ghost. Just as quickly, she dismissed the notion. He was a brave man. He wasn't the kind to shrink from facing Death. He would, in fact, greet Death like an old friend. She smiled at that thought.

"Yes, Stefano was no stranger to Death," she told the empty air.

She picked that point apart until she could think no more. Startled to find it was dark, she fell into a dreamless sleep. The air was heavy around her. She had the odd feeling that he was still with her. For one last night, she breathed in his scent.

XxX

Blaise was four when his mother remarried. Lately, Mrs. Cornelli. That's all the newspapers said.

Ferdinand Cornelli was a pleasant man. Unlike Dr. Zabini, Cornelli was a merchant. Educated at a local university, he sold all types of merchandise. The majority of his funds came from the sale of objet d'art. Several of his pieces, Lady Cornelli mused, were likely magical artifacts. But she didn't pry, and he never talked about his business. The only time Ferdinand commented on his work was when he asked if Zara would like to travel. Of course Zara accepted. Zara was taken around the world. She even visited her homeland. Nobody recognized her, but she found the small village she had been born and raised in was now abandoned. She didn't cry. Her family had deserted _her_ , she reminded herself stiffly. Since that fateful day, they ceased to exist in her mind.

In _Zara's_ mind, her traitorous self rebelled ruefully. She shook her head, dismissing the nagging thoughts.

Ferdinand was her husband and he was devoted to her. She had him wrapped around her finger. Nothing was too small a price to pay for her as long as she was happy. He bought her the best of the best. Blaise had all the comforts of a home suitable for the heir of an upper class family. In exchange, Zara played the part of the dutiful wife. She loved Ferdinand in her own way. All he cared was that she was pretty and she was his. Until Blaise's fifth birthday.

Ferdinand Cornelli's body was found, laid out, in his shop. He was inexplicably dead. Zara shed a few tears for her husband, but it was the unexpected nature of his death that shocked her more.

"He was dealing in Dark Arts," the investigator, Javier Barcos, explained. "He knew what he was dealing with. He knew the risks."

"What do you mean?" Zara inquired. "What risks?"

"The risk of handling merchandise without proper authority. The risk of touching something that contained evil power. The usual hazards of dealing with Dark and foreign objects." Sr. Barcos frowned. "Have you never heard of the Dark Arts?"

Zara shook her head. "No, I don't know what this 'Dark Arts' you talk about is. Where I come from, the only evil is that which causes harm. We don't store power in objects we sell. We treasure objects of power." She frowned. "Do you mean to tell me that this 'Dark Arts' is a career? A type of magic that is used frequently?"

Sr. Barcos was touched by her innocence. He tried, at great length, to explain what Dark Arts meant. He quickly realized she was a foreigner and therefore hadn't been trained in Italy. In a sense, he took pity on her. He didn't think she was sheltered so much as ignorant. Clearly, she had no idea to what degree her husband - former husband - had been trading.

"His customers came from all over," Zara said at last, when Sr. Barcos was done lecturing. "He never talked about his business with me, but sometimes I sat in the shop and watched."

Sr. Barcos understood. Ferdinand Cornelli had unknowingly protected his wife and adopted son. However, there was something about Zara Cornelli that intrigued Sr. Barcos. Was it her eyes, the way the looked at him in a surprisingly calculated manner? Was it the way she walked, like a seductive temptress begging to be pampered? Or was it the fact that she was so young and beautiful - much younger than Ferdinand Cornelli and too beautiful to be a mother already. Sr. Barcos tried to finish his case without distraction. A week later, he failed miserably when he asked Zara to meet him at an expensive restaurant.

Two months after the investigation was completed, Zara sold the Cornelli house and moved to Spain with Sr. Barcos. Blaise was five and a half. Sr. and Sra. Barcos were happily settled in a sleepy village an hour outside of Barcelona. Zara Barcos, as she loved calling herself, became busily engaged in teaching herself and her son the Spanish language, making her well-versed in four languages.

Zara enjoyed five months in Spain before tragedy hit again. Javier Barcos was killed while on duty investigating a curse-breaker's house. He and a team of trained aurors had infiltrated a gang's hideout. Javier, the leader, stood behind a cabinet waiting to give direction while the point man covered him. What neither saw was the scuffle in the next room. Without warning, Javier had been taken from behind. The point man was knocked unconscious by the crumbling building.

"Sra. Barcos," Auror Davies greeted her, pulling out a chair. "Please, have a seat." He indicated the chair was for her.

Zara sat gratefully. "Tell me," she demanded. And she listened to the whole story without batting an eye.

"Let me make this clear," she said, crystal voice soft. "He was killed from behind by this curse-breaker?"

"No, no. He was killed from behind. But not by the curse-breaker. No, it's much worse than that. Javier was killed by one of our own." The Auror frowned before pursing his lips, as if deciding to tell her a secret. "If you'll keep quiet about this, we don't want the newspapers to know until his trial."

"Of course," Zara replied, smoothing her skirt. "Naturally, the Aurors don't want this to be common knowledge. I ask only for the facts surrounding my husband's death. It is only right that he should be remembered for his work."

Auror Davies was impressed by her magnitude. "Very well. I appreciate your understanding. Former Auror Bernard Ontero is the traitor. He worked for the curse-breaker and set up Sr. Barcos' team. May his soul rot in hell and may Sr. Barcos find eternal grace in Paradise," Davies prayed, making the cross on his chest, a sign of deep reverence. Zara nodded her acknowledgement. Not being a Christian herself, she didn't copy Davies' hand motions.

Blaise was used to new homes. He had never known anything else since his small life had started. His mother and a nursemaid tended to his needs. His fathers were rarely at home. He vaguely remembered Dr. Zabini. No one else mattered to little Blaise. He saw the world as his mother intended him to. Life was brief. People fleeting. Hold true to yourself; no one else can be trusted. Anything can happen - never think something is impossible.

He learned these very important life lessons by the age of six. That was also, coincidentally, the same age he displayed magical tendencies. Zara immediately hired private tutors for her precious son and taught him a mixture of homeland rituals and European spells. Wand waving, she thought, had its uses.

Under Zara's instruction, Blaise learned the names of the stars and the phases of the moon. He learned the nighttime rituals to be observed and the sun's movements in the sky. He believed that herbs and herbal remedies were powerful. He found that brewing potions was much like cooking, and came to enjoy both, though Zara insisted he keep away from _her_ kitchen. She was territorial about her space and woe to any who tried to withstand her sharp temper.

Zara instilled a sense of independence in her son. She wanted him to know that, boy or girl, anyone could do everything. There was no gender in a task, just simple necessity. Certain tasks, like cooking, were life skills to be learned. Others, like flying and sports, built reflexes, but beyond social requirements for attendance, were deemed unnecessary for survival. Out of fear of losing the thing most dear to her heart, Zara forbade her son to play Quidditch like the other boys his age. Moping, Blaise didn't understand why Mama termed the sport 'mildly dangerous' when all of his friends played it. However, he knew better than to argue with Lady Zendira.

XxX

When Blaise was seven, Zara moved them to France, afraid of the gangs in Spain. Her husband had been killed. People knew where she lived. Who was to say they wouldn't try to kill her, too? What about her son? Blaise was unconcerned, being too small to understand the way the world worked. He saw only a new adventure.

In France, Zara met a professor by name of Pascal. Pascal Norman. He was half-French, part-German and part-British. He was living in France because he had received a teaching post at Beauxbatons Academy, a famous French school composed primarily of female students. Zara was taken by Pascal's green eyes. From the first moment they met outside a cafe, she believed him to be a handsome man and let him know she thought he was worth her time.

Everything from Zara's hair down to her long legs enticed Pascal. She was an exotic beauty he desired greatly. He was surprised she would look twice at him. It was apparent from her clothes and aristocratic bearing that she was very rich. He, being a recent student, was evidently not. Still, she pursued him and finally they married. Of course, he had to ask her, but he took great joy in thinking she had courted him.

Zara Norman found life to be very different. Pascal was a simple man with not-so-simple tastes. Having learned from her former husbands how to run a household and balance accounts, Zara soon put things in perspective. With Pascal gone during the school year, she had the small cottage to herself. Having sold her previous houses in Spain and Italy, (which she had previously kept to rent out as extra income), Zara tallied her resources and found she was a very rich woman. Dr. Zabini had left everything to her - a considerable fortune, the house which had sold very well, and some other items. Dear Ferdinand had left her a medium-sized fortune in galleons, and many artifacts that had sold in auction after the conclusion of the investigation. The artifacts amounted to a sizable fortune, one that would have sustained Zara had she birthed four children. Even Javier had left her a small fortune in jewels and property.

All in all, Zara had a right to feel proud of herself. Careful with her money, her bank regarded her as an esteemed customer. Zara, under advice from her bank, drafted a will leaving everything to her son and making her accounts inaccessible to the wayward Pascal. As he lived at Beauxbatons Academy for most of the year, Zara gave him a very generous budget, though he assured her he had more than enough liquid assets stashed away in case of emergency. Zara, having not seen such assets, didn't trust him, but Pascal merely smiled, grinning like a man with a humourous secret no one else was let in on.

It was with surprise and a heavy heart that Madame Maxime sent for Madame Norman. Zara arrived at the school flustered. She had left her precious son at home, alone with a nanny. The new tutors were scheduled to arrive soon and yet here she was at Beauxbatons. She wondered what could have gone wrong. Panicking, she thought, was Pascal fired? Dismissing the thought immediately, all reports had said he was a good teacher, she stalked into the Headmistresses' office and demanded to be seen.

"Madame Norman," a large woman said, deep voice rumbling.

Zara faltered, not expecting to see a woman resembling a mini giantess. She had never heard of giants until a story in Spain spoke of the creatures. Scared, Zara had destroyed the story book so Blaise would never read it again. The thought of giants and other creatures wasn't comforting. Dragons and goblins were alright. At least you'd know if they were nearby. But giants would knock you out the moment you realized they were there. Or so Zara believed.

"Bonjour," Zara said politely, extending her hand.

"Bonjour," Madame Maxime replied evenly, gently taking Zara's hand for a brief second. "Please to sit." Zara sat where the Madame pointed.

"I have asked you to here today because an unfortunate event has occurred," Madame Maxime said, eyes tearing up. "I am sorry to inform you, but your husband, Professor Norman, was vanished."

"Vanished?" Zara sat up straight, alarm obvious in her features. "What do you mean 'vanished'?" She slammed the desk as she stood. "I demand to know everything!"

"Oui, oui, Madame," a flustered Madame Maxime raced to assure her. "These are the facts as the inspector told me. Your husband, Professor Pascal Norman, took a portkey from here to Albania. There, he journeyed into Transylvania. After that, we have no idea what happened. He was our professor of Herbology, as I am sure you are aware. However, he had a great fondness for snakes, what the Muggles call a herpetologist, I am told so. I am not sure why he was in Transylvania, as the place is rumoured to be haunted," her voice trailed off, as if suggesting something. "But," she sighed, "zat is ze case." She folded her large hands on the desk. Zara shivered at Madame Maxime's words.

Madame Maxime continued, shrugging, "I have been told he was looking for several new specimens for his book."

Zara bowed her head. Madame Maxime waited for her to say something. When she didn't, the Madame sighed.

"I am very sorry for your loss. Our loss. He was a great influence in zis school. I do not to know what I do without him."

Zara looked up and smiled at Madame Maxime.

"Yes," she said at last, "Pascal has - had, excuse me, - a beautiful soul. He made everyone around him feel special. I will miss him sorely, although I do not believe he is dead."

Madame Maxime spread her large hands. "My dear, he has not returned in three months. To expect anything -"

"I refuse to accept this. Please to tell me, who is this inspector?" Zara interrupted, tears threatening to fall and ruin her lovely face.

Madame Maxime sighed and handed Zara a piece of paper. "Inspector Adrien L'Arachel. You'll find his address here." She tapped the paper and inked words appeared. Zara bowed, accepting Madame Maxime's help.

"Thank you for taking the time to inform me, Madame. I hope I have not greatly imposed. It is - disconcerting - to hear this news. Please keep me informed if the school needs anything."

Madame Maxime nodded her head, being too big to bow or curtsy, and Zara took her leave.

Blaise was saddened to see his mother in the following weeks. She was near-hysterical when Inspector Adrien L'Arachel couldn't tell her more. It was as though Pascal had disappeared off the face of the earth.

XxX

When Blaise was eight and a half, an official report appeared. Pascal Norman's remains had been found in Romania. It had taken investigators over a year to discover this as the town in question was situated between two mountain ranges.

Zara mourned her fourth husband for the second time at the official funeral service. Pascal's body was cremated, at his own wish. Because he hadn't been declared officially dead until six months after he was labeled missing, Pascal's aunt, upon her death, had left him a large fortune. This fortune now passed to Zara. Weeping, Zara couldn't care less about the money or the land. The house elves and the servants were of no matter, either. The fact that Pascal was found dead in a ditch occupied all of Zara's mind. He had been left to die alone, a fate she would never wish on anybody.

Blaise was nine when Zara announced she had sold their property in France. She was moving to Ireland. Blaise had the choice to stay or go. In her homeland, boys were considered men at the age of nine if they displayed magical talents. They would be taken on as apprentices and taught how to use their magic. Living in another man's house, they learned how to be a man of the village. At thirteen, they would choose their craft that would decide their importance in the village. Blaise didn't understand his mother and refused to leave her. So both mother and son journeyed to Ireland, hoping for a new chance to start over.

It wasn't long before Zara's immense fortune attracted attention. Taking Blaise to a Quidditch game for a late ninth birthday present, Zara caught the eye of Irish Chaser Aidan Kelley. After the game, Kelley approached her, capturing Blaise's attention with a set of free tickets and a miniature toy broom kit. Zara was flattered by the attention.

A week after they met, Aidan was accepted by the English National Quidditch team. Taking Zara on a surprise trip to Britain, he proposed to her on the Thames River, a romantic proposition. Zara was so overwhelmed, she didn't know what to say. He pressed her for an answer and finally, she accepted.

Zara sighed. She was married again. Her son was growing up so fast. Her previous husbands hadn't graced her with another child. She often longed for another baby, though she knew with Aidan's career plans for a child may not be possible if he was always away from home. Pushing these unpleasant thoughts out of her mind, Aidan and Zara Kelley moved into a small country cottage suitable for a small family.

Three months later, Zara found out Aidan's little secret. He was a playboy - a cheater. He had, in fact, been married to three other women at the time of their engagement! Furious, Zara confronted Aidan about his infidelity. She swore to curse him into the next century if he didn't have the talk with her. Judging from her temper and her brandished wand, Aidan believed her threats. Confessing everything appeased Zara - until she ordered him to make an Unbreakable Vow.

"I've read about it," she snapped. "Make the Unbreakable Vow with me. Tell me you won't sleep with any other woman besides me. I would like to give birth to another child, with you as the father. But I refuse to bring a child into this world who doesn't have a loving, faithful father to look up to. If you cannot pledge this vow, then we are done."

Aidan squirmed uncomfortably. She was so beautiful when she was angry. Why was she torturing him? Why did she enjoy doing this to him, making him choose between the lesser of two evils? He sighed and ran a hand through unkempt hair.

In the end, Aidan agreed to Zara's terms. He made the Unbreakable Vow that he would be faithful and only see Zara. He promised no other women would occupy his life. The couple agreed, once the Unbreakable Vow was made, to work through future disagreements and ended the night in bed together.

Zara smiled and fell asleep, content as a kitten. Aidan wrapped his arms around her naked body, loving the way she fit against him. Sleep overcame him and he felt oddly peaceful. He woke up smiling, kissed his beloved Zara, and left quietly so as not to wake her from her sound slumber. He had early practice to go to if he hoped to be more than a Reserve Chaser in the fall.

A month later, Aidan died.

"One minute we were kissing, the next, a horrible green light overtook his body. And he died," the woman said, crying hysterically. "I don't know what happened. I did nothing wrong!"

Zara snarled, "He died because he broke an Unbreakable Vow. You, my dear, are a shameful hussy." She was hissing like a cat, claws fully extended as she verbally dug into the pathetic woman standing across from her. Sniffing delicately, Zara stood. "I'm a busy woman. Good day, Inspector."

Zara nodded curtly to the Detective Inspector before taking her leave. She could not believe that her Aidan, the precious Chaser for the English National Team, had died because of that stupid bint. But then again, she thought, pausing, Aidan was a stupid man. Had he forgotten about the Vow? Cursing herself for foolishly believing in a lesser man, Zara Apparated home, too distressed to notice her son's astonishment at her sudden arrival.

Closing her eyes, Zara stood still. She patted her face with shaky hands, realizing for the first time that she was not crying. Aidan hadn't meant anything to her since his treacherous nature was exposed. Sighing, Zara stared down at her shy son and held her hands out to embrace him. She spent the rest of the week with Blaise, teaching him new potions to brew.

Several days later, Zara received a call from Inspector Langley.

"Good day," he said, entering the house. "Mrs. Kelley," he paused, then continued unabashedly. "Sorry, I must ask. What was that you were saying about an Unbreakable Vow?"

Zara stared at the Inspector suspiciously. Neal Langley laughed.

"Just because I work with Muggles doesn't make me one. I'm a plant. Auror Langley, at your service," he bowed gallantly, holding out his hand. She placed her shaking hand in his and watched with narrowed eyes as his soft lips barely brushed the tips of her fingers as he stood to attention. She let him lead her to a chair.

"Now, if you please, I would like all the facts concerning this odd case." Auror Langley stood by her side, waiting for her to talk.

Zara explained everything. The situation that lead up to her finding out about Aidan's infidelity. The argument. The Unbreakable Vow. How she guilt-tripped Aidan into making the Vow because she wanted another child. How much Aidan and she had talked about having children together. How hurt she had been when she found out their marriage wasn't even legally binding. She felt her throat tighten at the thought of being hurt in love. She hardened her expression and fought back against the tears.

"It was stupid of me to make a man like Aidan Kelley promise an Unbreakable Vow. I thought that would help him make a choice between divorce and polygamy. However, I'm not a patient woman. I think I forced Aidan into something he did not want." She bit her lip to hold back the scream of rage that desired to tear through her body.

Neal Langley shook his head. "If he hadn't wanted it, if he wasn't truly pure about his intentions, the Vow would never have worked." His soft voice permeated the atmosphere, making Zara feel like she was trapped.

"I know," she croaked in response, eyes welling up with tears. "I -" she couldn't continue. Sobs wracked her body. She rocked forwards and backwards in her seat, hands cradling her head.

Auror Langley immediately came to her side, holding her face against his chest. Zara's pent up rage came out all at once. It was humiliating and exhilarating at the same time. It was awful of her to make Langley's shirt front all wet. Blushing slightly, she waved a hand casually, drying Langley's shirt in an instant.

"I just can't believe that Aidan went off with street trash - seven minutes in heaven with a common whore - and," she shook her head in disbelief. "I don't believe it."

Inspector Langley smoothed hair away from her face, tucking loose strands behind her ears.

"As the Unbreakable Vow technically isn't illegal, and there are clear records indicating Aidan Kelley was previously married, your marriage to him is void. However, in his will, Mr. Kelley left you well-off financially. Is that correct, to your knowledge?" Neal asked, curious more than performing his role.

Zara nodded, "Yes. Yes, Aidan wanted me to be well-off. He wished to provide for me and any possible children I might have with him. He was always talking about having a boy and a girl in addition to my son Blaise."

Inspector Langley laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said so softly she almost didn't hear, "it would be extremely impertinent of me to not say it. I truly am sorry that you have to go through this." His level grey eyes met hers and she looked away.

"But, you know," he said, wistfully, "you're better off without him. You've gained so much more than he ever had."

Zara finally smiled as the Inspector's words settled in her brain. She nodded in agreement.

"Aidan was arrogant and vain. However, he was very compassionate. He had a large heart, despite his rather small mental capacity." She grinned at the joke.

Neal laughed. Bowing once more over her hand, he said with a dashing flourish of his wand, "If you ever need me, here's my address. #2 Woodsleigh Way. Neal Langley's the name. I shall take my leave now. Thank you for your kind hospitality." Quickly kissing the side of her head, Neal left Zara standing in the doorway, a dreamy expression on her face.

Nice woman, Langley thought, Apparating back to his office. Pity she's so young. Too young to have been married long. She's pretty too, a part of him thought. Exotic beauty. I expect she'll marry again. Wonder who the poor bloke will be, he mentally joked.

Inspector Langley did not have to wonder for long.

XxX

Blaise received his Hogwarts letter when he turned eleven. Zara, although greatly surprised, was flattered.

"Do you want to go?" she asked her son.

"Yes, Mama, all the kids are talking about it," Blaise replied.

"But you will have to live there. You don't know much about Scotland," Zara insisted.

"I'm eleven now, Mama," Blaise said, praying his mother would allow him to go. "All my friends are going. I think this is the right choice for me."

Zara pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"Very well, my precious. You will go to Hogwarts."

Zara was not alone at King's Cross Station to see Blaise off. Neal Langley accompanied her, patting Blaise's head affectionately. Blaise glared at the Inspector before listening to his mother's last words.

"Make yourself indebted to no one," Zara instructed. She looked Blaise over one last time, making sure not a hair was out of place. Pushing cool fingers under his chin, she forced her boy to look up at her. "Don't even think about causing trouble, you hear? I will bring you home before you can say 'Mama!' and have private tutors teach you. Do you understand me?" Her voice was calm and even, but her sharp eyes belied her tone.

Blaise gulped under the full force of Zara's stare.

"Yes, Mama," he said obediently. Hugging his mother in a rare act of affection, he continued, "I will be fine and I will stay out of trouble. I think this new adventure will be good for both of us." Impishly smirking at first Neal then his mother, Blaise hopped onto the train and waved. Zara sighed and turned to Inspector Langley.

"That's my boy," she said. The couple waved as the train pulled out of the station and turned round the bend.

"What else are you doing today?" Zara asked, accepting Neal's proffered arm.

"I was thinking that, since we are in London, I might visit the conservatory." He shot her a sideways glance. "Or, we might go to the gardens. Where would the lady prefer?"

Zara smiled, enjoying his indulgent nature.

"The gardens sound lovely," she decided.

"As the Lady commands," Neal grinned, teasing her.

"Oh, Neal, you are a truly wonderful man," Zara said, leaning against him for support and warmth.

"I know. It's one of my many faults," he laughed, drawing her into a close embrace. "Here," he warmed her with a quick spell. "Now, hold on." They Apparated from the platform.

Blaise wrote his mother about his Sorting, what it all meant, who he had befriended, and about his classes. Zara returned her son's owl and told him about the new development. Blaise wished her luck, hoping that Neal Langley was a good match.

Zara did not write back until the spring of 1992. Inspector Langley had been hospitalized because of an incident involving a manticore, a severely depressed Mimbulus Mimbletonia and a deranged humpbacked witch. Two weeks later, Zara wrote to say she had attended Neal Langley's funeral. Several tear drops stained her letter.

"Am I cursed?" she wrote. "You are lucky, my son, I feel it in my bones. I hope all is well for you and that you find happiness where you are. I don't have time to write fully - there is always too much to do. But know you are in my heart and my thoughts each and every day. I love you very much, my precious."

Blaise folded the letter and sighed. It was uncomfortable for his mother to be stared and gawked at simply because her husbands had died. It wasn't fair. Even some of the students at Hogwarts were whispering about Zabini. Blaise heard them and knew what they said.

Zara's letters did not improve. When September of 1993 came, Blaise was worried. He didn't want to leave, but his mother insisted.

"I have not put you through two years of school to have you turn back now," she stated, quelling all argument.

Blaise lowered his head, defeated, kissed his mother goodbye, and glumly boarded the train. Zara flapped a white handkerchief to wave goodbye and with a pop Disapparated to her isolated country house.

XxX

February 1994. Blaise received a very creased letter from his mother.

"My dear Blaise, I have some startling news. I have met a man. He proposed to me yesterday, but I have not decided to accept him yet. I think you will like him. When is the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

Blaise responded promptly, surprised by his mother's good news. In March, he met his mother in Hogsmeade. A tall dark-skinned man accompanied Zara. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, short hair cropped close to his skull. Blaise surveyed him with apprehension before entering the Hog's Head Pub.

"Blaise," Zara indicated once they were seated. "This is Francis Staunton, a writer for the Daily Prophet. Francis, this is my son, Blaise. I met Francis in January at a party. Blaise is a third year at Hogwarts." Once introductions were out of the way, regular conversation resumed. Blaise mostly watched his mother and Francis Staunton interact.

The three stood and made to leave. It was getting dark, Blaise noticed, surprised at how much time had passed.

Zara smiled and laughed, "Thank you both for this fine day. I feel so wonderful." She twirled, her skirts flying up and around her. Francis took her hand and caught her in his arms. Lifting her up, his muscles standing out from the effort, he whirled and danced.

Blaise was slightly envious that this man could make his mother so happy. But he knew it was important, as he was no longer at home to comfort her in her grief. Shaking hands with Francis, Blaise trudged back towards the castle, having missed the train home. The walk wasn't too bad, but he was now forced to use heating charms to keep himself warm.

Zara and Francis watched Blaise's retreating figure for awhile. In silence, Francis slowly put his arm around Zara's waist. She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest.

"Francis," she said, at length.

"Yes," he replied. She looked up at him, startled.

"You dog!" she playfully hit his arm. "How did you know?"

"I knew from Blaise's expression you would say yes."

"How am I so lucky?" Zara mused.

"You are very lucky," Francis teased, snogging her soundly in the middle of Hogsmeade as the sun finally set for the day. Slipping a ring onto her finger, Francis cradled Zara in his arms and Apparated them both to Zara's country house.

Placing Zara on the bed, Francis reverently kissed her before slowly undressing them both.

XxX

December 1995. Blaise's fifth year at Hogwarts.

Zara's owl impatiently waited for Blaise to take the letter from its claw. Fidgeting, the little owl stayed nearby, close at hand. Blaise was unperturbed by his mother's owl. With the holidays fast approaching, she usually sent him a note asking if he was coming home. However, this time, the owl wasn't leaving. Worried, Blaise tore open the letter and stared horrified at the blotchy writing.

"Please, Blaise, my love, it's Francis. I think he's ill or something - I'm not sure. I've taken him to St. Mungo's, but I don't know what they're doing. Please hurry back home."

Zara greeted Blaise on the platform, dressed head to toe in black. Blaise sighed and Apparated them both to their house. Once home, Zara sobbed into his robes, holding onto him for comfort. It was heartbreaking to see his mother so distraught year after year. Something had to change.

Life couldn't be an eternal bitch, could it? he mused thoughtfully.

Francis Staunton's funeral caught the headlines. He was remembered as a devoted husband, an important figure in Britain. The Ministry declared his cause of death to be a Venomous Tentacula. There were whispers that this was an arranged death. The Ministry was quick to declare the Venomous Tentacula a controlled substance. All the high class society ate up the gossip like wildfire.

Seven times a widow, people murmured. It must mean something.

Ah, well, Lady Zendira thought, gathering her courage. She now had a new duty.

Once a year, on the anniversary of each death, she arrived at the respective grave. Carrying a bouquet of black flowers, two candles, a stick of incense and a pouch of herbs, Zara held a solitary vigil. Her ghosts lived with her. She hoped her visits would help put them to rest. However, she still despised Aidan Kelley. Each year, a lone foxglove marked her visit to him.

At home, Lady Zendira fell into a troubled sleep. Tomorrow, she dreamed, the Black Widow would make her first appearance. She smirked, dreaming about what people would say and look like. No matter, she didn't trust anyone as far as she could kick them. Smiling, Lady Zendira slept peacefully for the first time in years.


End file.
